Chapter 25: The Inefficient Wardrobe

The dojo in the morning is hell. She is pushing me harder than ever, and I can feel my stances getting stronger, my punch faster. 

She is teaching me to move now, to shift my weight, to use my center of gravity. 

"You are not a tree, Minatawa-kun," she says.

 "You are a river. Flow. Adapt. Stop thinking like a rock." She is a brutal, relentless teacher.

And in the classroom, we have this silent war, this game. I am watching her, and she is watching me. I am the only one who sees the predator under the goddess.

She is the only one who sees the... whatever... she sees under the "delinquent." I am no longer scared of her. I am fascinated.

I am also learning to push back. 

"Your correction of Tanaka-sensei's grammar," I whisper as she passes my desk, "was brutal. Very efficient." Her step falters, just for a half-second. I win.

Later, she is in the library. I am also in the library, which is a place I never go. She is reading some massive book on political theory. 

I am pretending to study, but I am just watching her. It is insane. I am a stalker. Her stalker. 

She looks up, her eyes locking onto mine from across the room. Her gaze is intense, a silent command to stop being a creep. 

I just give her a tiny, slow smirk. She blushes. It is not a big blush, just a faint, tiny dusting of pink on her cheeks, and then she buries her face back in her book. I definitely win.

Now, it is Friday evening, 8 PM. The dojo is dark, the session having ended two hours ago, but I am still here. She made me clean. 

"Your discipline is lacking. You are messy. You will clean the dojo. All of it. This is also training." 

So, I have been cleaning for two hours. I have scrubbed the mats, polished the wooden floors, and dusted the weapon racks. My body and my soul ache. I am finally done, packing my bag, my sweat-soaked t-shirt clinging to me.

The dojo door slides open. She is back. She is not in her school uniform or her training gear. 

She is in normal clothes: simple, dark jeans and a plain white shirt, her hair in its high ponytail. She looks normal, and it is shocking.

"You are finished," she states, walking in. She inspects the floor, running a single, elegant finger along the windowsill. 

She looks at her finger.

It is clean. "Adequate," she says.

"My life is complete," I groan, slinging my bag over my shoulder. "I am 'adequate' at janitorial duties. My mother would be so proud."

"Do not be sarcastic. It is inefficient." She is standing in the middle of the room, just watching me.

I stop packing. 

"What? Is there more? Am I waxing the floor now? On? Off?"

"No," she says. Her gaze is that analytical one. She is scanning me. "Your public appearance is problematic."

I freeze. "Huh? My face? What is wrong with my face?"

"Not your face," she says, her voice flat, all business. "Your wardrobe."

I look down. I am in my 'public' clothes, the ones I changed into after training. Ripped jeans. An old, faded t-shirt from some rock band I do not even listen to. My beat-up sneakers. It is my look. 

"My clothes?" I say, completely baffled. "What is wrong with my clothes?"

"They are inefficient," she states. "They are loud. They mark you as a 'delinquent'. A 'brawler'. A 'problem'."

"That is kind of what I am, Katsumi. Have you met me?"

"No," she says, her eyes sharp. "You were a delinquent. You are now an asset-in-training. You are an associate of my concern."

My brain is stalling. "An 'associate' of 'your' 'concern'?" I repeat, the words feeling weird in my mouth. "You mean the Bokumuchi-kai?"

"I mean," she says, her voice like steel, "me." She takes a step closer. 

"You represent me now, Minatawa-kun. In a peripheral capacity. Your appearance is a liability. It attracts pests, like the ones in the village. It invites challenges. It is inefficient."

I am completely speechless. I represent her?

"Therefore," she continues, "we are correcting this inefficiency."

"We are what?"

"Tomorrow," her voice is a command. "1 PM. Shinjuku Central Mall. The main fountain."

"You... you what?"

"I will procure a more efficient wardrobe for you. Clothing that blends in. Clothing that does not scream 'problematic delinquent with no future'."

"Hey!" I protest. "My future is whatever!" My brain is rebooting. Wait. Tomorrow. Saturday. 1 PM. A mall. Her and me. Shopping.

"Is this a date?" I blurt out.

The word just falls out of my stupid mouth. Ayako's face blanks. That perfect, ice-cold, goddess mask slams down. It is the falsest mask I have ever seen. 

"It is a procedural update for a problematic asset," she says, her voice stiff, a little too precise.

"Right," I say. I cannot stop it; a huge, stupid, idiotic grin is spreading across my face. 

"A 'procedural update'. Got it." I am teasing her. I am teasing the yakuza predator. And I am winning. 

"So," I say, my voice way too casual, "Are you my sugar-mommy now? Buying your pet new clothes?"

Her eyes narrow. Oh, crap. The temperature in the dojo drops twenty degrees.

"Do not be late, Minatawa-kun," she says, her voice a deadly, soft hiss.

"And do not wear that." She gestures to my entire body with a look of pure disgust.

She turns, her ponytail swishing, and she is gone. The door slides shut. I am left alone in the clean, empty, silent dojo. I just stand there for a minute. Then I laugh.

"It is a date," I say out loud to the empty room. "It is totally a date."